A Taste of Christmas
by SweetWillowTree
Summary: A very late prompt response to the DE Holiday Exchange; prompted by TemptressKitten. Elena doesn't care that it's the holidays; she just wants to get to training. But Damon knows how to get her into the Christmas spirit. M FOR SEXUAL CONTENT AND LANGUAGE


**A/N: Ok! So I know I'm super late on this, but life got in the way, and better late than never, right? Anyways, it's a smutty one shot for the Damon & Elena Holiday Exchange that was on livejournal, based on a prompt from TemptressKitten:**

**"I want Damon to tie Elena up and blindfold her...but it's more complicated than that, because the tricky part of this is that you HAVE to engage the other senses here. I would like it from Elena's perspective; that means I want tons of descriptions for what she's feeling (emotionally, and physically), how Damon tastes when he kisses her, his scent, what his touch does to her, his sexy voice...basically I want an all-out sensual fic, but with some naughty dirty talk thrown in for good measure, because Damon IS a naughty boy and that's his appeal ;)**

**Oh, and there MUST be oral, and it MUST be drawn out a bit. But then most of you should already know by now what Temptress Kitten likes in her smut."**

**Shameless self-promotion: Twitter - SweetWillowTree**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.**

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><p><em>Shit. Shit. Shit!<em> Elena chides herself, forcing her car faster and faster down the street toward the boarding house.

She'd had to stay after class to finish a group project, but her partner showed up twenty minutes late, thus making Elena late for her training session with Damon. And he hated it when she was late. A few weeks ago, she'd accidentally shown up three minutes past their arranged meeting time, and he had assured her that the next time she was tardy, there would be _consequences_.

Somehow, the threat had sounded like decadent promise, but she likes to pretend that she hadn't shivered with desire when he'd uttered it.

She leaps from her car once she parks it, hauling her gym bag over her shoulder. She'd had time to change into some yoga pants while waiting for her classmate, and as she moves up toward the front door, she pulls her sweater over her head, pushing the door open and throwing the red item off into a corner. She looks down into her gym bag, gripping the black tank top in one hand as her eyes finally take in the entryway of the Salvatore home.

She freezes.

The entire hallway is decked out like Santa's workshop: Garland around doorways and twinkling Christmas lights around the railing of the stairs. There's the faint scent of gingerbread wafting through the place, and as Elena takes a few tentative steps forward, gym bag dropped and forgotten tank top still clutched in one hand, she is able to see into the parlour.

A massive Christmas tree, fully and tastefully decorated with white and gold lights, ornaments, and tinsel, is in the middle of the room. She continues to scan the area until her eyes land on Damon, standing with his back to her, pinning stockings to the mantle of the fireplace.

"What happened in here?" she asks him breathlessly.

"I've been decorating," he deadpans through the pins still between his teeth.

Elena lets out a scoffing huff, shuffling towards him. "Clearly. But why does your house look like a Christmas parade threw up in it?"

He's finished with his third stocking by the time she's done speaking, and turns on his heel to finally face her. His mouth opens to release what is no doubt a scathing retort, but stops, lips parted, to stare at her. She frowns, then looks down at herself and remembers that she'd forgotten to pull another shirt on. She's standing in front of him in just her sports bra covering her upper half, and the jovial atmosphere from moments before hardens into something much heavier.

Damon clears his throat, blinking rapidly. "I – uh – I noticed that you've been a little down lately, and figured that this would cheer you up." His eyes drop down to her feet and slowly rake up her body, and she feels herself flushing unbearably. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

She frowns in response. "Training, Damon. I'm late, but obviously you found something better to do."

"Right," he nods, clearly unable to form proper answers without thinking long and hard about it. Elena sighs and rolls her eyes, finally popping the tank top over her head to cover her midsection.

"Are we gonna get started then?" she asks slowly.

He seems confused for a moment before fading back to his characteristic cocky expression.

"Do you like it?" he asks, indicating the house.

The girl shrugs, giving yet another cursory glance before meeting his eyes again. "Sure, it's nice. So are we gonna get started?"

She blinks, and he's in front of her, pressing his wrist to her forehead.

"What are you doing?" she all but shrieks, ducking away from him.

"Checking your temperature; no fever..." He mutters the last bit mostly to himself, frowning in consternation. "Elena," he begins softly, "I spent the entire day - at vampire super speed, I might add – making this entire mansion look like something out of a catalogue, and all you've got is, 'Sure'?"

"It's beautiful, Damon," she says, and she means it. She just doesn't understand why it's so important to him. "But we're supposed to be training, and -"

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Sure," she answers quickly, "It's December 21st. What does that have to do with anything?"

He's still staring at her like she's grown another head, but she's staring straight back at him, still a little confused at his train of thought.

"It – It's less than a week until Christmas. Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, at least a little bit excited? I mean, I know the past year has sucked a whole lot for you, but, hey, presents and parties and shiny decorations! Yay!"

He finishes off with mock-enthusiasm, which garners a smile from her for at least a moment.

"I dunno, Damon. I guess I'm just not feeling very Christmas-y this year. Or," she stops and bites her lip, staring hard at the floor, wondering whether she really should speak her mind. She nods to herself and looks up at him. "I'm just not feeling anything at all, really."

She doesn't want to tell him that he's the reason she isn't feeling anything. She can't afford, what with the Stefan and Klaus situation, to really give in to what had been growing between herself and Damon. So she closed it all off and has been ignoring everything until she can allow herself to come to terms with all of it.

And it's a testament to just how much closer the pair have gotten that Elena can actually see the range of emotions in the icy blue depth of the vampire's eyes. Almost instantaneously, he flits from disappointment, to concern, to acceptance, and then covers it all up with the customary flirting.

He leans in close and she leans back, bending a little and imagining how comical it would be to someone walking in.

"Would you like me to fix that problem for you?"

Shivers run the length of her spine and she can feel her knees shaking as she takes a long step back.

"I think I'll be fine," she giggles nervously. "Maybe we can just, you know, get to the training."

Damon rolls his eyes at her, then wipes all the suggestive flair from his body language.

"I'm actually serious, Elena. I've picked up some tricks here and there; meditation and sensory stuff. Let me try something out, and if you don't feel comfortable with it, we'll just fight, okay?"

She bites down on her bottom lip, swallowing down the words, 'But I never feel comfortable with you,' but nods anyway. Again, she's privy to his private thoughts as she watches him. He looks surprised at her acquiescence, then excited, proud and happy. He finally settles on a clinical detachment.

"All right," he begins, rubbing his hands together. "We'll need a couch or a bed -" Her eyebrows shoot up, and he laughs at her. "Well if that's where your mind is going..." He sends her a wink then steps away from her. "No, it's just for you to relax. The bed might be better for that though..."

And before she can stop herself... "Can we use yours?"

She almost slaps herself as the air between them thickens once more. She can almost feel Damon swallow hard, half turned away from her.

"Sure," he rasps, "I'll meet you up there."

Blushing a furious shade of purple-red, Elena ducks her head shyly and all but runs past him to the stairs. She makes it to his room and stops, wondering what she should do next. He had mentioned relaxing, so she makes her way to the massive bed, hopping on and sitting, propping her chin on her knees.

Moments later, Damon appears in the doorway, and Elena takes the opportunity to actually notice what he's wearing. His blue button down shirt is the same shade as his eyes, and paired with his dark jeans and hair, the entire effect is breathtaking. It's in these moments that the quiet (progressively growing louder) voice in her mind stops making suggestive comments and instead, whispers one word into her thoughts: Beautiful.

He's carrying a kitchen tray with him, and Elena cocks her head to the side, inquisitively.

"Supplies," he states, placing the tray on a desk and moving towards her. He stops at the foot of the bed, and she instinctively scoots forward. "Blindfold," he whispers, and she notices that his hands are shaking a little when he pulls a length of silk from behind his back.

The moment he blocks her eyes, she can already _feel_ everything a little more: The softness of the silk as it brushes against her skin, the way a lover would, the way she sometimes imagines that Damon would; the roughness of his fingertips as they graze her cheeks; the heat from his breath as he hovers above her head, tying the knot that will keep her blinded during this experiment.

"Can you see anything?" he asks quietly, and she's satisfied to note that he sounds as nervous as she feels. She shakes her head. "You can stand up, if you want." His voice sounds a little further this time, and she figures he must have gone back to the tray.

She hears him shuffling around as she stands and takes a few tentative steps away from the safety of the mattress, and then he's in front of her again.

"Now," he rumbles, and she feels his fingers sliding through her hair, pushing it back over her shoulders and lingering on the tips of the strands, "I want you to focus on everything: What you feel, what you smell... What you taste. Forget about thinking, forget about everything, and focus on feeling."

To begin with, she is certain that she can feel his words, the way his tongue embraces each syllable.

She's on fire already.

He cups her face and presses his forehead to hers. She doesn't push him away.

"Do you understand?"

She knows that when she utters her answer, she's answering for everything between them now, not just this experiment. She is putting herself in his hands, and can she trust him enough for that?

"Yes."

His fingers loosen from her jaw, and she feels him grazing down her neck, her shoulders, and then the length of her arms. His hands jump to her hips and he rubs upward, lightening his touch as he approaches her breasts. His palms flatten out over her chest and collarbone, and then she feels one thumb on her bottom lip.

"Damon," she chokes out.

"Yes," he breathes.

"Are you sure this is innocent?"

He chuckles lightly. "I really am trying to keep it that way."

She slides forward until her soft chest is pressed against his hard one. Her hands are splayed over his pectoral muscles and she can feel him twitching under her fingers. She moves up, copying the path his palms had blazed over her heated skin, coming to a stop when she feels the rough stubble on his jaw.

"Please don't keep it innocent," she demands in a voice so low, she can't even hear herself over the heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She can feel Damon growl before she can hear it, before she tastes it, because her lips are on his, swallowing whatever words he wanted to say. His kiss tastes like peppermint, due to the schnapps he was most likely indulging in before she'd blown into his Winter Wonderland.

"Elena -" he croaks when she moves away, but she presses a finger to his lips to silence him, whimpering when he takes it between his teeth.

"What were you going to do next?"

She can hear and feel him shuffle, shifting his weight.

"I'm reorganizing the schedule," he decides, reaching out to grip the hem of her tank top and tearing it up and off of her. Then he grabs her hands and places them at the collar of his shirt. "Undress me."

She feels the blood rushing to her face and bites her lip. "Should I take the blindfold off?"

"Keep it on; tell me what you feel."

She swallows hard, suddenly much more anxious than she had been, because she knows where this will inevitably lead. The moment she'd stepped into his parlour wearing only her sports bra, she'd sealed her own fate.

She slides her fingers down the fabric and slips the first button through the hole.

"Your shirt is soft, worn. Old?" He hums out a yes and she continues down, knuckles grazing his chest. "Your skin is warmer than – than I thought it would be. You just – You seem so much more -"

"Cold?"

"Distant. Angelic."

She freezes at her admission and rushes through the rest of the buttons. When she reaches the bottom of his shirt, she flattens her palms against his abs.

"Soft," she murmurs. "You'd think you'd be harder, but," she takes a shuddering breath, "You're soft." She tilts her head up, imagining that she can see into his eyes through the silk scarf. "You're a lot more human than you let on, Damon."

He doesn't say anything, and so she continues, reaching around to the muscles in his back, kneading them lightly, coming around his ribs and sliding her palms over his nipples. When she reaches his shoulders, she pushes his shirt and hears it flutter to the floor behind him. He grips her wrists, kissing inside of each palm, causing her pulse to spike with need. Then he moves her hands down until they're resting on his belt.

Without hesitating this time, she does away with the buckle, pulling the leather strap from the denim loops and tossing it over her shoulder, onto the bed. She hears the zip of his fly and then tugs the tight fabric down his legs and to the floor. Quickly, she rights herself, standing in front of him once more. Without his encouragement, she reaches out and grips his member, satisfied with the gasp that erupts from between his lips.

"Not soft," she giggles, slowly sliding her palm up and down his hardened length.

"I should hope not," he retorts, but she can hear the laughter there.

After a few more moments, Damon takes her hand and pulls it away from him, pushing her until she's on the bed again. With a knee between both of her legs, he inches her back until her head is on the pillows.

"Did you change laundry soap?" she asks him, desperate for a distraction from the feel of his body so close to her own.

"Maybe," he answers noncommittally.

"It smells like mine."

He doesn't answer, but his silence makes her smile. Then she feels his hands on her upper arms, sliding down to her wrists and pulling them over her head. Another moment, and she feels the leather of his belt against her sensitive skin.

"Wh-What are you doing?" she stutters.

"Tying you up," he grunts. "I want you to feel, without trying to touch. Not part of the original plan, but it is helpful."

She feels him leaning over her as he finishes buckling the belt, and then he moves away, his skin sliding tantalizingly against her own. His deft fingers graze along her belly to the waistband of her yoga pants and she raises her hips to help him pull them down her legs. She feels the shift in the mattress when he leaves the bed, only to return and pull one of her ankles to the side.

She doesn't protest or ask questions at this point, though she does feel exposed as he immobilizes her legs, leaving her bare to him in nothing but a tight sports bra and her thin, rapidly dampening panties.

The bed dips between her legs, and she feels the heat from Damon as he settles there.

"Now, back to our original programming."

She gasps suddenly, feeling something cold caress the skin of her calf, her knee, her thigh...

"Is that ice?"

"Mm hmm... How does it feel?"

She ponders that for a moment, before answering pointedly. "It feels."

She pauses, relishing in the contrast of her overheated skin and the almost unbearable cold. The ice inches up a little, and it's so close to where she's throbbing. She can feel the waves of freezing air emanating from the tiny, rapidly shrinking cube.

And then there's something rough and warm and wet following the trail the ice had blazed. She sighs and reaches down on instinct, momentarily forgetting her restraints in her eagerness to run her fingers through Damon's soft locks, encouraging the progress of his tongue as he makes his way closer and closer.

He takes his time, and she can feel his lips pulled up into a smirk as she sighs and writhes beneath him. The ice melts, and he sucks on a particularly sensitive patch of skin on her inner thigh before breaking contact entirely, so the only thing she feels is his hot breath between her legs, making her shiver.

"You're shaking," he states plainly, although she can hear the satisfaction in his voice.

"Hardly," she breathes in response.

He presses his lips to her clit through the fabric of her panties, chuckling when her hips buck a little. Her stomach tightens in anticipation of his next move, but he surprises her, pulling back and leaning over her, so he skin slides against hers. When he returns, she tenses again, jumping when she feels something warm dripping over her abdomen.

"Damon?" she asks tentatively.

"Yes," he drawls, and she can hear him holding back his amused laughter.

"What is that?"

"What do you think it is?"

Something warm presses against her just above her bellybutton, and slowly moves up, much the same way as the ice from the moment before. She can feel a trail of something warm and... sticky.

"Oh my – Damon! Is that -?"

He lets out a bark of laughter, the vibrations rocking through her when his tongue laps along the trail he'd left, taking care to suck every few seconds.

"It's chocolate, Elena."

She almost exhales in relief, before realizing that she is currently tied to a bed while Damon Salvatore looms over her, drizzling warm chocolate along her bare skin, and licking it off, and...

A wanton sort of whimper escapes her throat, and she can feel her entire body burning with self-consciousness and irrepressible lust. She's done with this game, done with this year of foreplay, and done with the damned belt holding her hands away from all of the skin that she is desperate to touch and taste and explore.

"Damon," she whispers.

"Mm hmm..." he moans into her skin, lips and tongue now following the chocolate up her chest to her collarbone.

"That's – That's enough. I want... I want..."

He interrupts her by sliding the chocolate against her lips and she feels the air escape her lungs in a steady 'whoosh'. Her tongue slips out to taste it, and she moans at the decadence. She feels his hardness twitch against her hip.

"Open up," Damon rasps, and she can tell that he's had damn near enough of this as well.

Obediently, she parts her lips, closing her teeth on the strawberry that he'd used to paint her body. When she gets to the end of it, she flicks out her tongue to suck the juice and chocolate off of Damon's fingers. Emboldened by his gasp, she nips at him until he pulls away.

"How are you feeling?"

"Untie me," she counters, desperate to touch him.

He chuckles. "How are you feeling?"

"Please Damon. I want to touch you too!"

He leans in to her ear, and she shivers as he breathes down her neck. She thinks she's won, thinks they're done with the game, ready to drop all pretence and -

And then he whispers, "Not yet," into her ear, kissing down her neck and slithering slowly back down her body. He pauses at her breasts, and she feels him huff out a sigh.

"This," he begins, tugging on her sports bra, "Is annoying." There's a pull, and a tearing, and then her chest is bare to him. "This," he growls, running his thumb over one nipple, causing her to gasp in pleasure, "Is much better."

While his one hand kneads her left breast, he leans over the other, gently taking one hardened nub between his teeth. Her entire body tingles with electricity as he continues his ministrations, rubbing against her, his hipbone sliding along her panties, causing her to throb more and more.

It's unbearable.

"Damon, please! No more games!"

"Ugh," he sighs with mock-irritation, kissing down between her breasts, "You're so needy."

His hands slide down her ribs, her stomach, her hips, as he continues his descent, not even hesitating when he rips her panties off.

He does, however, freeze once she's completely bare. She can feel his eyes burning into her, across her entire body. She fidgets under his scrutiny until he presses his hand softly to her left hip.

"You're beautiful, Elena," he whispers, oddly vulnerable. "You shouldn't – You have no idea how long I have been dreaming about this moment. When I'm so close..."

He presses a soft kiss to her pubic bone, just above her clit.

"Lower," she begs.

She can feel his eyelashes against her skin as he blinks once, twice, then smirks against her.

"Yes, ma'am!"

His hands slide over her thighs, his thumbs pulling her nether lips apart just before he slowly licks from her entrance to her clit. He pulls her swollen nerves into his mouth and sucks hard before soothing it with a flick of his tongue, then restarting.

She feels at once calm and agitated, glad to finally have some of the stimulation she'd been craving, but desperately needing more. Her hips slowly move in time with his ministrations, egging him on, silently begging for more.

"Do you want me inside you?" he murmurs.

"Yes," she whimpers, eyes pressed shut and hands clutching the leather belt for dear life.

One lone digit circles her entrance, and Elena's stomach tightens. Her thighs are tense, but he's dragging out the anticipation. She knows that he's watching her face, knows that he sees her expression of uncontrolled desire.

Without warning, he slides two fingers into her, stretching her out before driving in again. Her hips buck, her eyes roll back, and she lets out a wordless cry of pleasure.

She's moving with him, trying to draw him deeper, but his other palm is pressed to her stomach, holding her down.

"Holy fuck, Damon!" she shouts when he quirks his fingers, stimulating the bundle of nerves inside of her.

"I love it when you swear," he growls into her, pushing her even higher with his voice.

She opens her mouth to retort, but he somehow finds a way deeper inside of her body, and she screams instead. Her entire body begins to tighten, preparing for the release that he's dragging out. He slows down, speeds up, changes angles, changes pressure. He's using everything, hands and tongue and voice, all to drag her up higher and higher.

All she can feel and hear is him: His skin against hers; his ragged breath as though he were in her ear.

"You're right there, Elena," he coaxes. "Just let go."

And she does.

And she almost loses her mind.

From the moment Damon had tied the blindfold, Elena's senses had been amplified by ten, making every instant since then more intense than anything she could have imagined. As her orgasm tears through her, she feels things she's never dreamt before. Flashes of blue eyes and darkened veins, of lightening and flames, everything good and bad and powerful soar through her as she writhes and cries in ecstasy.

It takes a little while for her to register a sound beyond her own pounding heartbeat.

"Elena." A kiss on her thigh. "Elena." Another kiss. "Elena."

"Damon," she answers breathlessly, bonelessly, blinking uselessly against the blindfold.

"How do you feel?" His teeth graze her skin before laving the spot gently.

"I can't move." _Or breathe. Or think._

"Well, you are tied up," Damon laughs.

"Oh." She moves her wrists tentatively. "Yeah."

As she twists and turns, trying to recalibrate her nervous system, Damon's lazy treatment speeds up and intensifies. His gentle kissing and licking becomes nipping and sucking. His grip tightens on her legs as she feels the familiar heat building again.

"Not – I can't – Not again," she attempts, but he's having none of it.

"You wanted me to help you feel?" he growls, and she feels a tiny prick inside her thigh. "I assume it's working. Why would I stop?"

He slips one finger inside of her again, his thumb rubbing light circles around her clit. She arches back, words of protest dying on her lips as he works her up again.

"I'll never stop," he whispers, almost too low for her to hear. "Not now that you've let me in."

She thrashes a little; arches a little; pulls a little; pushes a little; everything's a little because all she needs is a little bit more. She doesn't know how, but he's able to bring her to her breaking point so soon after she broke already. Not that she's complaining.

"Do you want to fly, Elena?" he asks in a voice so seductive, she couldn't deny him, even if she wanted to.

"God! Yes, Damon! Yes!"

He doesn't answer; she doesn't feel him smirk or chuckle or anything. All she feels is a sharp pinch inside of her thigh, and then pleasure bordering on pain. Never before has she imagined having this kind of reaction to a vampire bite, but this is so much more than that. There's no fear, no violence, no taking. In fact, Damon is giving her something; he's giving her everything he has to offer.

The second release is different than the first, but no less powerful, and by the time he pulls away from her leg and kisses his way back up her body, Elena isn't sure she has anything left.

But then, everything changes. She can feel him pressed along her body; she can feel his hardened member between her legs; she can feel his muscles taut beneath his smooth skin; she can feel his warm breath as he hovers just above her lips.

"I want to touch you," she breathes, her lips brushing his as she speaks. "I need to see you."

He doesn't move at all, and Elena knows why. If she can see him, feel him, then this is real and that's terrifying. For both of them.

"You wanted me to feel, Damon. You won; I feel. So please, I want to feel you."

He reaches down to release her ankles first, and immediately, she wraps her legs around his waist. Her wrists are next, and now, she takes her time. She strokes down his back, smiling when his face falls into her shoulder and he lets out a shaky breath. She drags her nails back up his stomach and chest, finally cupping his neck and face. Her thumb glides over his bottom lip; her fingertips dancing over his eyes and forehead; she pushes back his hair and then grips the back of his head to pull him in for a searing kiss.

Their lips mold together, and Elena can't help but smile. She can't still taste the mint on his breath, mixed in with her blood and juices. His tongue probes her mouth just as his fingers slip behind her head to undo the blindfold.

As soon as she can see again, she pulls him back, dark eyes scanning his bright blue ones, and for once, she can't read the expression on his face. His forehead his smooth, his eyes wide, his lips swollen and red. He looks vulnerable and vindicated all at once, like he knows the right answer, but is still afraid of getting it wrong. The mixture is entirely foreign to him, she thinks.

And she knows how to get him back on track.

"I can see you," she whispers to him, smiling a little at the look of confusion he adopts. Her grip tightens on his head, and she bends him closer, pressing her cheek to his so her lips are against his ear.

"And now," she breathes, nipping at his earlobe, "I need you to come inside of me."

One of her hands slips between them to grip his member and guide him to her entrance. They hesitate for just another moment; he pulls back to meet her eyes one last time, murmuring, "You're perfect," in a strangled voice; and then he thrusts forward, burying himself inside of her, stretching her out, filling her up.

Completing her.

She jumps, wrapping her arms around his back and holding him closer, biting down on his shoulder to stifle the yell that escapes her.

"Oh m'god Damon, that's – amazing. That's -"

She can't speak anymore; all words and linear thought processes disappearing as he thrusts into her again. And again. And again.

He sets a fast pace, and it's all Elena can do to just hold on to him. Her nails and teeth dig into him, breaking the skin, and she's glad to be leaving marks of her own. His lips are on her neck, kissing and sucking in time with the motion of his hips.

"How do you feel?" she rasps to him, grinning at the reversed roles.

"Like I'll die if I can't be inside of you at least three times a day for the rest of my existence."

He shifts a little, changes angles, and Elena arches back to take more of him in.

"Maybe we can – ah!- work something out."

He speeds up at that, pounding into her so hard that she's convinced he'll fuck her through the mattress. Not that she'd ever tell him that.

"Holy shit, Damon!" she cries out, head thrown back, gripping his shoulders for dear life. "Fuck! You're so – You're so -"

"I'm so good at making you curse during sex," he snickers against her throat. "It's so hot."

"Fuck off," she snaps, pushing him so she's on top, clenching her thighs around his waist, digging her nails into his chest. "Now how do _you_ feel, Damon?"

He doesn't answer, just grins a little as his body twitches, his eyes clench shut momentarily, and Elena watches, enthralled, as beads of sweat roll down his forehead. Then, before she can take a breath, he's sitting up, his right arm wrapped around her back, fingers knotted into her hair, kissing her hard. She can't catch her breath; all she can do is keep moving, keep grinding, keep rolling her hips. Damon pulls back and watches her carefully, bringing his wrist to his lips and biting down, offering her the open wound.

A week, a day – hell – just an hour before, Elena would have been horrified. But now, when he's looking at her like that, and her body is still thrumming from the effect that he's had on her, and he's inside of her, she can't imagine not tasting him. Her tongue darts out to flick over the tangy substance before her lips clamp down. It's different from what she remembers; less bitter, and more drugging. Although, that could be due to the endorphins that are most likely rushing through his veins.

She sucks hard, and relishes in the way he groans and bucks into her. One of her hands is wrapped around his proffered forearm, while the other is lost in his mass of black hair. She doesn't realize, until she feels his lips on her throat, that she's pulling him in closer. She needs it; needs the extra penetrations; needs to be possessed.

His fangs tear into her, and now they're completely intertwined; legs and arms and tongues and blood. Every part of them is linked and everything disappears. The bed has vanished and the world has been obliviated and all that's left is Damon and Elena floating among the sparks.

She feels him yelling or shouting or screaming into her skin, and they both pull back at the same moment, lips meeting as they come together.

They collapse to the side, a tangle of limbs and sweat. Their lips are still moving, still kissing, still holding on to the intimacy they'd shared just moments before. Neither speaks for a long time.

"I think -" Elena gasps, swallowing hard, "- I think I don't know how to think anymore."

Damon laughs, pushes her hair back, peppers her face with kisses.

"Glad to know I live up to the hype."

They're quiet again until she rolls onto her back, feet dangling off the side of the bed, brows pulled together in consternation.

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, nibbling on her shoulder.

"Just wondering something..." She looks over at the tray that he had placed on the edge of the mattress, grabs a strawberry and pops it into her mouth. "How in the hell did you ever plan on keeping _that_ innocent?"

His eyes flash, and in an instant, his body covers hers again.

"I'm an evil mastermind, beautiful. The goal, as always, is to corrupt."

And as his lips trail down her throat, that's exactly what he does. Over and over and over.


End file.
